


New

by Crockzilla



Series: Domesti-Kink with Spideypool [3]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: D/s, Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, Size Difference, Spanking, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 12:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/pseuds/Crockzilla
Summary: Peter was not shy about letting Wade know when he wanted a spanking.





	New

**Author's Note:**

> This series is roughly in the continuity of the Spider-man/Deadpool series by Joe Kelly and Ed McGuinness, and this fic has some references to those comics, but you totes don't need to have read them to read this. (All of you would enjoy them, though -- the series is basically a slow-burn spideypool fic, except cannon.)
> 
> This one is partly inspired by Fingers Walk Your Thigh by ArraFrost, which is one of the best spanking fics I've ever read.
> 
> If you like this, you'll love The Spanking by Hexes who's writing an awesome kinky spideypool series.

Peter was _not_ shy about letting Wade know when he wanted a spanking.

They had a code worked out, which they’d stumbled on one night when they’d been watching the news and Wade had corrected the announcer’s grammar. Peter had turned to him with a big, mischievous grin, poked him directly in the nose and said, “Old!”

Wade had caught him by the converse as he tried to scramble away and dragged him over his lap while Peter screamed with delighted laughter. The first few swats were playful, but when Wade heard the deeply inappropriate sound that escaped Peter and saw the even more deeply inappropriate _look_ he threw Wade over his shoulder and felt what Spidey Junior was doing against his thigh, he had outright whaled on Peter’s oh-so-spankable ass. Peter had _loved_ it, and told Wade so by fucking the bejesus out of him until almost the next morning.

This became a thing. Peter would find an excuse to poke Wade and call him “Old!” or “Canadian!” and Wade would pretend-wrestle him down (because, Peter realized, half of the hotness for Wade was the conceit that Wade could overpower him, knowing Peter could actually flip their positions in a moment) and spank the living daylights out of him until neither of them could stand it anymore and got naked. On one of these occasions, Peter made Wade chase him off of the couch and around the apartment a bit before allowing himself to be caught. _That_ was a game-changer.

“Did you like that?” Peter had asked him.

“You mean the pleasure-delay while I chased you around our home? Yes. Did you?”

Peter had nodded sleepily. The anticipation had been awesome, the adrenaline of knowing what would happen once Wade caught him in his crazy-giant arms. Peter kind of forgot about this, until a few nights later after they’d finished up patrolling together and Deadpool landed next to him on a rooftop.

“Will you be going by Mr. Cruise now?”

Peter had stared at him through his mask. “Huh?”

“That was some risky business you pulled back there.”

After Peter had finished groaning and Wade had finished laughing at his pain, Wade turned mock serious. “But really, you almost got yourself hurt.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter had snarked, “never been hurt on the job before. You?”

“I’m serious,” Wade had said, stepping closer to him in a way that made Peter’s skin tingle. “I think a trip over the ol’ knee when we get home might help you remember to be more careful.”

Peter was pretty sure he had gone temporarily deaf, because all he could hear was a roaring in his ears. “Wade,” he finally choked out, “if you are teasing me and don’t follow up on this, I swear to god—“

“Gasp! Taking the lord’s name in vain! You’re just making it worse on yourself, honeybunch.”

Wade had had to mostly carry Peter home because he was too turned on to properly operate his web shooters. That night. Had been. _So_ great. Totally worth not being able to sit down at the office the next day and having Anna Maria bore into him with her eyes as he gave some bullshit excuse that she totally saw through.

After the enthusiastic review he gave Wade’s idea that night after patrol, Peter should have seen this coming. However, true to form, he did not, and was completely caught off guard when he got Wade’s text message during the Parker Industries morning meeting:

_You’re getting a spanking tonight_

Peter was not sure where the sound that came out of him had originated in his body. It was like a gasp/moan/sound-that-a-cow-makes combo. He looked up at the room full of his employees and saw that they also had questions about where that noise had come from. Peter tried and failed at a casual laugh.

“ ‘S a joke,” he lamely gestured at his phone. “Sorry. Got a joke meme from – Tony Stark. He’s such a cut-up.”

Peter caught Anna Maria's eye as the meeting attempted to resume and knew that she somehow knew exactly what had been in that text and would absolutely use this against him later.

As soon as morning meeting was done, Peter locked himself in his private bathroom in his office and dialed a certain former mercenary.

“Spanky-Central, this is Wade.”

“Babe, you cannot _text_ me stuff like that when I am at _work,_ ” Peter said through gritted teeth, “because now I have a _boner_ and can’t _do_ anything about it.”

“Don’t you have a private bathroom?”

“Wade!”

“Okay, wait,” Wade said, “are you really upset or are you just being adorably grouchy as usual?”

Peter frowned in a way he knew Wade would think was cute, which made him flail his fists, which he knew Wade would also think was cute. _Damn_ it! “I am not ‘adorably grouchy!’”

“For real though,” Wade insisted, sincerely, “if you’re not into this, it’s totes okay, I didn’t mean to—“

“No! No no no I do I do want to—“

He could _hear_ Wade smile. “I need a ‘yes,’ cutie.”

“ _Yes_ , yes sir.”

There was silence. The “sir” word hung in the air. It had just slipped out. Mother-titsing-damnit. Peter rested his forehead against the bathroom tile. “Wade?”

“Yes! Sorry,” Wade said, hoarsely, “I’m fine. It’s just -- my crotch exploded.”

Peter smiled, relieved and terribly, terribly excited. “You’d better have that grown back by the time I get home.”

“Okay,” Wade said, somewhat worriedly, and Peter heard him chanting “Heal heal heal heal” as he hung up, making him mildly concerned that Wade’s crotch had actually exploded. He was pretty sure that wasn’t a thing, but this was Wade after all.

At about 10am, he realized that Wade had specifically chosen to do this on a day when Peter had to be at the office all. Day. _Long._ As he toiled through meetings and paperwork and consultations, Peter fidgeted with every object on his desk. He usually couldn’t stay still for long, but this was ridiculous. When Anna Maria walked into his office for the eighth time to find him hanging from the ceiling, swinging agitatedly, she just shook her head at him and left the room. And then there were Wade’s super helpful texts sent at regular intervals throughout the day:

_Five hours_

_Until spanking time_

_It’s coming_

_Tonight_

_It’s happening_

_Spanking_

_To you_

_From me_

_Three hours_

By the time five o’clock rolled around, Peter thought he would shake right out of his skin. On the ride home, which took for _ever_ , he decided he needed to carry a paper bag around at all times if he was going to be the paramour of Wade Wilson. He Spidey-lept his way up the stairs to their apartment, could barely hold his keys to get the door open, and burst inside, fully expecting Wade to be standing there with an assortment of paddles tucked into the various straps of his suit.

But the apartment was empty. “Wade?” Peter called, his voice strained from fighting back moans of frustration all day. “Babe?”

Then his phone rang. It was Wade. “Hi hi! I’m—“

“Where _are you?”_ Peter demanded, almost not caring that his voice had shot up an octave as he spoke.

“I’m sorry!” Wade said. It sounded like he was in a crowded place, which was a little weird for him. “I had to run an errand, but I’ll be home in a jiff! You get comfy and wait on the couch for me, okay?”

Peter restrained himself from just whining incoherently into the phone. “Please hurry.”

“I’ll be right there, pumpkin, I promise.”

Peter hung up to the sound of Wade making smoochy-lips. He put his hands on his hips, took a big breath, and sighed it out, which helped a little. Wade would be back soon. He changed out of his suit and into comfy clothes and sat down on their couch, like he’d been asked to do. Perhaps some Netflix would help ground him. Just as he’d gotten the TV turned on to find that Wade had been in the middle of an episode of _Designing Women,_ he heard a key in their door. Peter jumped up on the couch like a puppy who’d been left by themselves, but he didn’t run and jump on Wade like he wanted to. Instead, he tried his best to wait patiently for his boyfriend to come find him. He wanted Wade to be in charge of this.

Even in this agitation, he felt the familiar swoop of joy that he felt whenever he saw Wade’s face after being away from him for any length of time. He remembered the first time he’d been genuinely happy to see this man – it was after their Dirty Dancing incident, and he’d opened his door, thinking it was the breakfast burrito guy, and was greeted instead by Wade’s weirdly-expressive mask. It had felt like his heart literally swelled in his chest, not as much as it did now, but in a way he remembered pleasantly surprising him. And then Wade had shot him in the face. To be fair, Wade hadn’t know it was him, and he felt _really_ bad about it when he found out, and it was actually a great meet-cute story now.

He had made the right move – when Wade saw him waiting obediently on the couch, he grinned predatorily. “Good boy,” Wade praised. “Are you ready for your spanking?”

“Yes, please,” Peter said, breathlessly. Wade had on his sexy-badass attitude, so Peter didn’t feel much like being mouthy, but he couldn’t help throwing in a, “Sir.”

Peter fought a smirk as he watched Wade’s knees almost buckle. He quickly recovered himself. “Good. Jeans off. Go stand in the corner.”

He actually moaned out loud, which just made Wade grin. Fighting frustration that he wasn’t getting his ass beaten yet, knowing that this would just make it better when it finally did happen, Peter stood from the couch and took off his jeans as Wade watched him, hungrily. With great effort, he willed his legs to take him to the corner and turned to face it. He could hear Wade sit on the couch behind him and feel Wade’s eyes on him, could almost feel the heat of Wade’s gaze on his boxer-briefs. He had changed into his Deadpool underwear (which he’d bought so Wade wouldn’t feel embarrassed about his Spidey undies and also because he was a pretty big Deadpool fan, turns out) and he knew Wade was pleased.

Wade didn’t turn on the TV and make Peter wait while he finished his _Designing Women_ episode like Peter had thought he might do. Instead, they both waited in silence, Wade watching him, Peter trying not to come just from the feeling of standing not-quite-naked, waiting to be held down and spanked.

Finally, what felt like _hours_ later but was probably just a few minutes, Wade’s deep voice cut through the silence. “Come here.”

He practically bamfed over to the couch to stand in front of Wade, who couldn’t help but laugh. Peter knew he was fighting _so_ hard not to squee or clap his hands giddily, and he was very proud of him. And also very touched – this whole thing was incredibly sweet and thoughtful, and he was going to fuck Wade six ways from Sunday afterwards. But first…

Wade stood up from the couch, put his hand on Peter’s lower back, and gently but firmly guided him into the bedroom. Peter’s heart was pounding so hard that he could feel it in his temples. Wade led him to stand at the edge of the bed while Wade sat down on it. Then, turning his head, Wade looked Peter straight in the eye, to make sure there was no misunderstanding, and patted the top of his own thigh.

Peter’s stomach lept – this was _new_. It was one thing for Wade to wrestle him down, another for Peter to willing lay over his knee. He would have to _think_ about what he was doing, _let_ Wade do this to him even more than he already was. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to do what Wade had asked because he was about to pass out from too-hot, but Wade, reading him well, took him by the shoulders and helped guide him down and over, adjusting him so that Peter’s groin was pressed snugly against Wade’s leg, ass perfectly raised. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist, and Peter sighed with relief. Wade was _so_ strong. Yes, Peter was just as strong, but right now he could pretend that he wasn’t, and that was fantastic. He tested Wade’s grip by squirming a bit, just enough that he could feel how firm, how safe Wade’s hold on him was. _I’ve got you,_ he seemed to say.

Wade’s hand on the fabric of his boxer-briefs sent a thrill of fear ( _good_ fear) and nerves through him. Wade whistled. “You are in a world of trouble, sweet-pea.”

Peter moaned, laying his head on his arm, and waited for the first smack, hard and firm, right over the middle of his ass, sending an electric jolt straight to his dick, which was already straining against Wade’s thigh. Peter squirmed again, but Wade rested his hand on his back. “Hold still,” he warned.

The first ten spanks were warm up, all right in the middle, evenly spaced, slow and methodical. This was also _new –_ usually, Peter thrashed and twisted, giving Wade the pleasurable illusion of having to restrain him the whole time. Peter tried so, _so_ hard to do as he was told as Wade landed each successive smack on the same spot – it wasn’t exactly painful, but each spank went straight to his core, bringing him closer and closer to coming all over Wade’s leg. Just when he thought he couldn’t hang on, Wade landed number ten and rested his hand over Peter’s ass, rubbing over the warm, fabric-covered skin.

“My good boy,” he purred with an affectionate pat. “Now you can squirm and kick all you want. Yes?”

Peter swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Wade leaned over him, mouth almost at his ear. “I’m gonna make you cry, Spidey.”

In any other moment, Peter would have rolled his eyes – Wade was _such_ a dacryphiliac. But right now, all he could do was lay his head back down with a rough groan of “Yes yes yes please _please_ babe _please_ ” which made Wade hum happily. His hand came down harder, stingier, smacks still evenly spaced and at a steady pace, but he started moving around, alternating between each ass cheek, smacking his _thighs_ which stung like a _bitch_ and made Peter cry out brokenly.

Suddenly, Wade’s hand stopped. Peter tensed. After a long moment, he felt Wade’s rough fingers in the waist-band of his boxer-briefs. A whimper escaped from Peter as he felt the protective fabric pulled over the stinging skin of his ass and thighs, down to his knees. Wade waited a moment, and Peter knew it was to give him time to fully process the feeling of exposure, of being so utterly vulnerable.

And then, without warning, Wade took the fuck _off_ , spanking so hard and fast that the smacks blurred together into great swells of pain. Peter twisted, kicked, and bucked, so hard that Wade had to tighten the solid hold he had around Peter’s middle, but never losing his grip on him, just like he’d promised. When the burning got so intense that Peter almost had to call “red,” Wade would stop suddenly, just long enough for the pain to ebb, and then start back in just as intensely. Peter yelled and begged, “ _please, babe, please”_ but he didn’t cry. He was afraid that he might not be able to. These days, it just didn’t happen for him unless he was Little, and he was scared that maybe he couldn’t anymore. But Wade was big and strong – he could _make_ him.

Suddenly, Wade stopped. Peter lay with his head to the side, breathing heavily. Wade’s arm moved from around his waist, making Peter whine, until he felt Wade push apart his ass cheeks followed by a slick finger gently rubbing at his hole. He let out an exhausted moan – how had he not seen that Wade had the lube out?

“Can you take ten more?” Wade asked.

Peter lay there and panted. _Could_ he? Finally, he nodded his head, too keyed up to speak. Wade’s big arm went around him again, and then he felt the unmistakable sensation of leather on his hot, tender skin. Wade had his _belt_ out – how had he not _noticed_ that? This was also new – they’d done the belt over jeans before, but not bare skin. Peter whimpered at the feeling, his pulse quickening.

“Can you still take ten more for me, love?”

Peter nodded again. He could do anything for Wade. Wade gave him a reassuring squeeze. Peter felt him raise the belt and sucked in a breath.

“These are gonna be fast,” Wade warned.

Peter gulped, then cried out as Wade started laying stripes on his ass with the belt in quick succession. By six, Peter felt something give inside of him, and by eight be was loudly sobbing into the bedspread, desperately gripping Wade’s knee. Wade stopped instantly. Peter heard the belt drop to the floor, and felt Wade pull him up and into his lap, careful of his abused skin. Peter buried his face in Wade’s neck, wrapping his arms around him in a vice-like grip. Wade held him, and Peter could practically feel the warm-fuzzies pouring out of him – _this_ was Wade’s favorite, the comforting part. His sweet guy.

“My good boy,” Wade soothed, stroking his back. “My good, beautiful boy, you did _so_ well for me.”

Peter sighed into Wade’s skin, tears stopped. He wanted to tell Wade how _amazing,_ how _fucking wonderful_ he was, but his head was still spinning. After a minute or two, thanks to his faithful Spidey-fortitude, he found he had enough energy to pin Wade to the bed and show him _exactly_ how grateful he was. For several hours.

Later, Wade lay scrunched down between his legs, head resting on Peter’s stomach as Peter stroked his fingers over Wade’s poor, scarred head, both of them too tired to move.

“I love you,” Wade muttered into his bellybutton.

“Mm-hm,” Peter replied. “I would still love you even if you didn’t spank me and fuck me s’good, you know.”

“Mm-hm,” Wade assured, nuzzling into him. “You sure you’re okay?”

Peter mustered enough energy to give him a thumbs-up, which Wade grabbed and kissed. Eventually, Wade remembered what he’d gone on his errand for, which was an oven-ready pizza, which he popped in the oven, then got back into bed where they both totally forgot about dinner and were eventually awakened by their fire-alarm going off. After clearing their apartment of smoke and reassuring their building manager, they fell asleep among the charred remains of their pizza.

The next day, Peter had to unexpectedly go in to work, where he found many creative ways to lean against things without sitting down. In a moment when no one was around, he finally met Anna Maria's eyes. “What?” he asked, too tired to try to cover.

She shrugged. “You two are cute.”

Peter suddenly felt a wave of his signature Parker!guilt-and-shame. Being constantly distracted by Spider-man stuff meant he was too much of a burden on his business partner already. Add domestic bliss and sexual escapades on top of that -- “Am I letting you down? More than usual?”

“On the contrary,” she said, “you’re a lot more present these days. I feel like I can slack off a little, which is new and different for a woman of color in the tech industry.”

Peter laughed. “Good! I’ll try to stay – present.”

Anna smirked at him. “Just tell that boyfriend of yours to never stop beating your ass.”

When he got home that day, Peter did just that.

 

 


End file.
